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TransBridge
Welcome to Carol.J's Writing Space
Creations
"Then, I would lean in and draw the next pattern, fearful of getting a word wrong. Fearful of misrepresenting the soul." - "Homing"
竹篮 长木 轻声叩门 那里面有什么?竹篮 你可否盛起一缕天空 或是一溪云彩 若你盛不起河流 湖泊 大海 你可否盛起一捧爱。
"Remember, remember, Lynne, no matter what, do not go near the Deepwood." This is an island. The sea surrounds it, stretching to the world's end, to places even the suns cannot reach.
"记住,记住,琳尼,无论怎样,不要靠近深林。"这是一座岛屿。海包围着她,一直蔓延到世界的尽头,那些太阳也去不了的地方。
这雪常是黑的吗?篝火问 它刚刚被点燃 正 热切地烧着 当然不是。我答 是夜黑得太多 才 让雪染了色。
Is it okay? His breath fell on her nape, raising gooseflesh. But she knew that aside from her skin, nothing else had been stirred. His hair scraped against the edge of her lips, itchy and slightly painful.
可不可以?他的呼吸洒在她的后颈,激起一阵鸡皮疙瘩。但她知道除了她的皮肤,什么也没被激起。他的头发刮擦她的唇部边沿,很痒,还有些疼。
在过去,母亲会教我如何阅读。她会用羽毛般柔软的食指抵住纸张上小小的黑黑的图案,然后告诉我怎么用声音表达出那个图案的意思。我总是很喜欢听她说话。
The sea. The place that held all of my time, my life, and my spirit. The place where my soul could lie down and immerse itself in the warmth. The place where all memories are kept, yet all good has faded.
关门前,我最后确认了一遍:水盆加满、食物足够、阳台地上铺好了报纸。反复确认自己关了门,我们才转身离开。这是我的习惯。电梯门"叮"地关上,世界开始下沉。